The Unnamed
by Taivasalla
Summary: One-shot collection. The ordinary ninja and the moments that make up their lives.
1. Tea

_Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto._

Tea

She was shaking as she opened the door and stamped into her apartment. She slammed the door behind her, and kicked off her sandals. One spun out into the main room, knocking the low table gracing the center of the room a full six inches back. Wincing at the scraping sound, she swore viciously, then removed the other sandal a little more carefully.

A head poked out from the bedroom, brown hair swinging loose around his face, the ends just brushing his shoulders. "You're back!" The face was quickly followed by a body, and the man gathered her into an embrace. "You're finally home."

She quivered in the circle of his arms, exhausted body still tense and resisting. Her flak vest was thick and cold between them. He tipped his head down, resting his forehead on her shoulder. "I'm so glad," he whispered.

With a hard shove, she pushed him away. He stumbled back and she twisted, facing the wall. "I'm not in the mood. Just leave me alone right now, please."

Her lover stood still, neither advancing nor retreating. She leaned against the cold plaster, letting the wall sap the heat from her face. "Please." Her voice cracked and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard his footsteps moving away, then the clatter of dishes in their small kitchen. She sagged a little against the wall, letting the shakes travel up and down her body, clenching her teeth to stop the noise.

Then he was touching her shoulder gently, and the scent of hot tea drifted to her nostrils. "Sit down?" The words rose at the end, a plea rather than a demand. She slid to the floor, and he turned her so her back was against the wall. She took the cup when he pressed it into her hands, and sipped at it when he pushed it towards her lips.

They sat quietly for a while, his arm around her shoulders, the only sound the soft liquid swish as she finished the tea.

"Want to talk?" he finally asked. She had stopped trembling, had let her head drift down to lie against his shoulder.

She shook her head. He took the empty mug from her hands and pulled her closer to him. "That's okay," he murmured. "Just wait a bit. It's okay." He kept talking, mostly nonsense, distracting her with sound. Her eyes slid closed, and she sighed softly.

When he felt her go limp, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest. His back protested as he stood, a stabbing pain between two ribs. He gritted his teeth and carried her to the bathroom. It would be better if she didn't wake still covered with dried blood.

He could always lie to the doctors tomorrow if his stitches had ripped.


	2. Kunoichi's Burden

_Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto._

A Kunoichi's Burden

He had always been the one she went to. Not their other teammate, not Sensei. The trust between them was implicit, and complete. So when she asked him to meet her at the park before her next mission, he was there early, waiting.

She approached slowly, her skirt swishing softly around her ankles, content to watch the sunlight glancing off his hair, to let his slight smile warm her heart. Then she sat next to him on the bench, and he opened his eyes and tipped his head towards her. "You're wearing makeup," he said in surprise.

"I won't be back for a week or so," she told him abruptly.

He nodded. "Okay."

Something else was on her mind, but she didn't speak. He waited patiently. When she did speak, she stared straight ahead. The words were quiet, but her voice was flat. "Hey. Do you love me?" She didn't mean it in a romantic sense, but they both understood.

"Of course," he said, and reached out to touch her hand. He didn't say, _what's wrong?_

She still didn't look at him. "Forever? No matter...no matter what?"

"Yes." He said. "Forever and no matter what."

She kissed his cheek carefully. "Thank you."

She stood, and walked away, towards the main gate of the village.

He watched her go, admiring the shiny fabric of her skirt, the way her blouse accented her figure. She was beautiful.

Then, the logical conclusion followed. He almost followed her, almost shouted to her to come back.

But he didn't. Because he couldn't. None of them could.


	3. Mother

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

Mother

"So I'll be gone for about two weeks," she says to the woman holding her child.

She kisses her son's forehead. He waves his tiny fists in the air and burbles. She smiles, caressing his silky hair. "Be good, sweetie," she tells him, although he is too young to understand.

The woman clasps the blanket-wrapped bundle to her chest as she waves goodbye. As the mother hurries down the street, her green vest catches the light like forest leaves.

In two weeks, she knocks on the door again. She has discarded her vest at the hospital, because she doubted the stains would ever come out. She hugs her baby tightly, pressing him close, kissing him softly.

He scrunches up his face and begins to cry. He wails with his thin, high voice, his hands flailing. He doesn't quiet until after they reach home and she takes a quick shower and changes clothes. Then the blood-scent is gone, and she smells like faint perfume and baby food.

She cradles her son lovingly, and whispers quiet reassurances. _No need to cry, sweetie. Everything's okay. Mommy's home again._ Someday, he'll get used to the smell of violence, and she'll be the one crying.

The black shirt is tossed in a basket to be washed later. She'll need it again, soon.


	4. Bar

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

A/N: A little different from the others...

* * *

Bar

The three young men stood in the darkening street, giggling, in a masculine way of course, and shoving each other. They kept casting glances at a brightly lit doorway to the left. Finally, one of them got up his courage, and pushed into the shinobi bar.

It was bright inside as well, different from the dim, often smoky civilian bars. Here, stools were well spaced, tables placed careful distances from each other. Shadows were few, low music was piped in along the walls, not loud enough to cover the soft shifting of one's neighbor. The three boys swaggered up to the bar, taking seats on the tall stools. "Hey," one of them called to the bartender.

The bartender looked over, his single eye annoyed. "Don't serve underage kids," he said flatly.

"We're not underage," the first boy insisted, his voice quavering with the urge to laugh or shiver at the lie. "We're ninjas." He tapped the scratched forehead protector slung around his neck. His friends nodded.

"Like hell you are," the man said, his scarred face grim. "Get out before I throw you out."

The boy in the middle made a move to stand, but his friend grabbed his arm. "We're chuunins," he insisted, ignoring the hissed warning from the other. "Passed this last exam."

The ninja sitting on the stool beside him turned suddenly to eye him. "How many people you killed?" he asked idly.

"Six," the boy said. Not too high, but enough to get some respect, he figured.

The ninja snorted quietly. "You?" he asked the next boy.

"S-seven."

The ninja ran a hand through his short hair, fingers ghosting over a faint scar on his forehead. "And you?" the first boy challenged.

He let out a bitter laugh. "You think I count?" he asked. "You think it's a game?" He downed a gulp of sake from the saucer in front of him. Reaching out lightning fast, he grasped the boy's chin. "Look in my eyes. I've killed more men than months you've been alive." He said it without a trace of pride or satisfaction, a flat statement of fact. He dropped his hand. "You killed nobody. I can tell by your eyes," he said quietly. "You're no shinobi. Stop disrespecting those forehead protectors and _get out_."

The boys fled with as much dignity as they could muster. The shinobi sighed. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he said absently to the bartender. "Give me some more sake. I've got faces to drown tonight."


	5. Birthday

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

Birthday

"You promised you'd be home for my birthday!" He stands at the door with his arms crossed, watching his mother shuck her coat and vest and sandals with the righteous indignation only a child can truly have.

"Sorry, sweetie," she says. He glowers when she forces the corners of her lips up and tries to make amends.

"Why? You _promised_ you'd be here this year."

She opens her mouth, then lets the air out devoid of words. How can she answer that? "The mission took longer than expected, honey."

She bends down to press a kiss on his tousle of soft hair, but he ducks away and slams into his room. "It's _always_ missions," he shouts, and there are tears brimming in his eyes. "You never care about _me_!"

Her shoulders slump and her smile slides away as her son shuts her out. "Sweetie..." But he doesn't open the door.

She knows that a mission doesn't excuse her in his eyes. It doesn't excuse her in her own.

She'll be gone next year, too.


	6. Rent

_Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto._

Rent

"Please, I just need a couple more months, then I'll be back on active duty."

"I'm sorry. You're all ready six months behind on the rent. I can barely keep up on my own debts; I can't keep cutting you slack."

"Mother, are we going yet?"

She glances down and shushes her daughter quickly. "In a moment. Sir—"

But the landlord shakes his head regretfully.

* * *

"I need a mission."

"The chart says you're still on medical leave."

"There any A-class available?"

The chuunin at the mission desk pulls the "A" clipboard over. "Bodyguard job for a merchant heading to Mist."

"Anything paying higher than guarding?"

He flips a couple of pages. "Single elimination of a missing-nin. That's paying about half again as much. But you're not fit for—"

"I'll take it."

* * *

"There's a couple coming to look at the apartment in two days. I'm sorry, but I need her completely out by tomorrow."

"I'll send someone to clear out the possessions this afternoon. Most of it's just going to get sold off to pay for the funeral." The social worker shrugs, carefully, to avoid jostling the child tucked against her shoulder.

"Does she have somewhere to go?" the landlord asks. He glances at the tiny girl's tear streaked face, slack now in exhausted sleep, then looks quickly away.

"We've got a shortage of families right now, but she's at a popular age. She'll probably have a home in the next couple of months. Don't worry. This sort of thing happens often enough that we've got a pretty good system."


	7. Family Conversations

_Disclaimer. Same as before._

* * *

Family Conversations

"How is being in the big city?" the aunt gushed. "Is the Daimyo's palace really as grand as they say? Did you see the gardens? I heard they have gorgeous fountains."

He laughed nervously. "Uh. The palace is really big. I've been studying since I arrived, pretty much the whole time, and the Daimyo doesn't exactly like students wandering around his gardens, so no, I haven't seen them."

"And what exactly are you studying? Construction?" one of the uncles asked, not pausing as he reached his chopsticks out for another gyoza.

"Architecture." He took a bite of his food and chewed slowly, hoping the conversation—interrogation—would turn to some other family member. His brother was studiously picking individual rice grains from his bowl, keeping his eyes down in hopes of not being the next victim.

"And how is that going?" the aunt pressed. "Oh! Did you hear about that huge building going up in that city on the coast? They say it has over twenty floors! Can you imagine?"

"Yes," he smiled politely. "One of my teachers has a friend working on that project." He saw her drawing breath for another question and hurriedly turned to his brother. "What have you been up to?" The eyes of all the relatives turned immediately to the eldest son.

"Yes, dear, weren't you down in the islands a few weeks ago?" the same aunt queried. "Tell us all about it."

He licked a grain of rice from the corner of his mouth and shot a dark glance at his little brother. "I wasn't there long; everything went smoothly," he lied. "It was good to get a break from all the rain up here," he added lightly. "Mother says her cabbages are going to rot if it doesn't dry up a little."

There was sympathetic agreement from around the table, and the talk quickly turned to agriculture and the ridiculous weather. So-and-so's floors had flooded last night; that aunt's neighbor hadn't been able to get any clothes dry in a week; one cousin swore her whole garden was washing away down the gutters with all the mud in the streets. The younger brother caught his sibling's eye, and flashed him a conspiratorial smile. He grimaced at first—how could you do that to me, cruel little brother—but then he grinned, and flicked two shinobi hand signs, just above the edge of the table.

They were the only two he had taught his younger brother, and they meant 'meet outside' and 'jerk,' respectively.

* * *

"Our university boy," he drawled, when the younger brother finally escaped the table and made his way out to the front steps. When their parents had bought this place, it had been a recent construction, in a part of the village touted as the new better side. Now, it was just another listing building among blocks of other similarly patchwork structures.

The younger punched his arm in annoyance. "Don't call me that." He stepped over to lean next to him against the rusting iron railing. "I thought you quit."

Shrugging slightly, he took another drag on the cigarette. "Keeps me calm."

"Mother doesn't like it." But he held out his hand.

His older brother slapped it down. "If you take this up, I'll kick your ass."

He groaned. "Hypocrite. And don't give me that crap about ninja and cancer. It still damages your lungs."

"I wasn't going to. You're supposed to be the smart one in the family, but they expect me to be an idiot." He smiled faintly, through the smoke. "My little brother, at the best university in all of Fire Country. Damn." He reached out a quick hand and ruffled the neat brown hair just below his eye level.

"Dammit, don't do that," his brother protested, slapping wildly at the hand.

He laughed out loud. "Remember when we were kids?"

"Yeah, what about it?" he grumbled, trying to smooth his hair back down.

"Hmmm," his brother non-answered, looking back up at the starry sky, forearms braced comfortably on the iron. "Good times."

* * *

After the relatives had dispersed, he lay down on the extra futon rolled out in the room he and his brother used to share. His mother had dusted every surface assiduously before he arrived from the city, but it still had an empty, abandoned feeling. He missed his dorm room.

What he hadn't been able to predict, though, as he packed his bags for his first visit home since he'd left last summer, was that back in their old room, he would miss his brother's breathing beside him as well.

He'd been nine when his brother graduated Academy, and those few days when the family was all together had slowly become fewer and fewer, until his brother had split the rent on an apartment with an older chuunin, and moved out. That had been five years ago, so he really shouldn't expect the footsteps to come up the stairs, the door to creak open, and his brother to flop down on another futon with a big sigh and the scent of sweat and raw dirt. Maybe it was because of the 'remember when we were kids' comment that he did.

That thought made him roll out from under the blanket and ease the door open. He tiptoed to the head of the stairs, and knelt down with his head pressed to the posts, the way he hadn't done since he was twelve.

But some things never changed. Anger clenched in the back of his throat, but also a traitorous sense of reassurance. Another argument. It meant everyone was home; home and wishing they were anywhere else.

"You could have said yes when Aunt asked you to tutor your cousin. It wouldn't take that much time. You owe her respect." That was his father's voice.

"I have no set schedule. I'm in and out of the village all the time. There would be no way it would work."

"You could do it whenever you were able." His mother, softly. "Just a few times a month."

"That's what Academy is for."

"But he's your cousin. You should help him as much as you can."

He expected an exasperated response, but his brother's voice, when it came, was quiet. "Mother. I didn't really want to bring this up today," he said, slowly, but sounding more relieved than reluctant to be speaking of it, "with the relatives coming over and all, but I've been invited to test for ANBU."

There was silence, and the beating of his heart sounded very loud in his ears. ANBU_._ His brother. _ANBU._

"You said no, of course." His mother laughed shakily. "You're already drawing jounin pay. You don't need to join up with _them._"

His hands tightened on the posts supporting the railing. That was right. Jounin missions were dangerous enough; his brother must have said no.

"I haven't responded yet."

He felt ten again, eavesdropping on the first night his brother had come back from a B-class, bloody. The intent voices, never raised, and worse for it.

"Then write them back and say no," his mother said firmly, as if all were now settled.

"I think I'm going to accept." He'd planned this conversation for so long, playing it out in his head, but that made it no easier.

"Why?" his mother wailed, as he knew she would. "Don't I worry enough about you? Why couldn't you have finished school like your brother?"

Up on the stairs, said brother flinched at the old quarrel.

His father stepped in. "We let you take the exam and become a shinobi. And we've been very proud of you. Jounin at eighteen? And so skilled, now? You have truly done well. But ANBU is something entirely different, son."

He could almost hear his brother running a hand through his hair, that gesture he'd only started using after graduation. "I know what it means, father. I know it would be hard on you both. But isn't it time for you to let me make my own decisions? I'm twenty-one; I've been a legal adult for five years. And I think I'm going to accept the offer."

"What about your brother?" His mother pulled out the trump card.

"He's off at university." On the floor above, the young man stiffened. "We wouldn't see each other much either way."

"That's not what I meant," she murmured. "ANBU," the word came off her tongue with a sour flavor, "aren't known for being respectable."

Something clattered to the floor. "Respectable? You're worried having a brother in Black Ops is going to hurt his job prospects? Oh, don't worry Mother, that's what the masks are for. No one has to know." His words lashed bitterly into their ears.

"No," she protested, hurt. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean it like that. The village needs the ANBU, I'm sure they're good people, but it's like T and I. We need them, but you're not going to walk out and say 'Oh, my son works in T and I' when the neighbors ask what the children are up to." She sounded like she wanted to keep talking, but his father must have put his hand on her shoulder or some such, because she subsided.

"So you're ashamed of me." Something scraped downstairs, and the voices moved closer. He shifted farther back into the shadows.

"No! Dear, that's not what I said—"

They were in front of the door now; his brother was pulling on his sandals. "Tell him goodbye from me," his brother said shortly. The door opened, and shut.

"Wait!" His mother started to cry. "Why doesn't he listen? Why is he always so—"

He tiptoed back into his room and shut the door. He didn't want to hear the rest of this. He didn't want to have heard the first part.

* * *

"Hey."

His roommate looked up as he stepped into their little half-kitchen. "'ey," he responded, slurping up the noodles hanging out of his mouth. The radio was on the counter, droning something about grain exports from Grass Country. He managed to get the soggy strands all swallowed down. "How was the family?"

He sighed, and dropped into the chair on the other side of the table, propping his feet up on the counter. "Awful. Nosy, boring, and I told my parents about the offer."

"Oh." The other frowned, and gulped down a mouthful of broth. "Didn't go well?"

"Only a little worse than trying walk the trade road into Ame with half a dozen rolls of explosive notes." His roommate laughed, choked, and managed to spit out the piece of scallion before he suffocated. "Can I turn off the radio? I got enough about harvests and the goddamn rain from the relatives."

"Sure." He wiped a bit of soup from his chin. "Man, I'm sorry about the evening. But as you can see," he gestured around the empty apartment, including the now-silent radio, "I wasn't exactly partying in your absence."

"Yeah." He stretched in the chair, forcing it to tilt back on two legs. "You going to be around tomorrow?"

"Hmm." He cast a glance at the rest of the lukewarm soup, and then chucked the plastic microwave container into the sink without getting up. The dirty chopsticks followed with forceful precision. "Last mission got upgraded, so I guess I can take another day or two off. You got plans?"

"Anything not involving paperwork, missions, or my relatives. Other than that, whatever you can come up with."

He chuckled. "You want to invite your brother? He's here a week, right?"

"Depends what you decide to do. He still thinks," and he made a quick motion with his hand, "means 'jerk.'"

"Only if there's a genin in the room," the other grinned. "But I get it. We'll be responsible." He contemplated his dirty dishes with the air of a scholar debating the great moral questions of the world. "Ah, screw them. I'm going to get some sleep."

He nodded. "If you dream, I'm pitching a kunai at your head."

"As always. As always," he agreed amiably, already at the door to his bedroom. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah."

* * *

A/N: I haven't been writing much lately; this piece is from back in March. I actually really like it; I considered giving them all names (!) and turning it into a separate piece, but for now, it fits pretty well in this collection. But with that said, I'd love input on this one in particular.


End file.
